"Parker!" called the dean, climbing out of his Lexus. "What brings you here?"
When Brainert failed to reply, Dr. Pepper hastily crossed the lawn.
"It's Pierce Armstrong," Brainert said softly. "He's dead."
The dean blinked. "What? What happened? Did he fall… a heart attack?" He glanced around. "Where's the ambulance?"
Brainert locked eyes with the man. "It was murder, Wendell. We came to see you and found the door unlocked and Pierce Armstrong lying on the floor, dead. The man was bludgeoned to death with the speargun prop from your dining room."
Dr. Pepper's eyes widened in horror. His square jaw went slack. He looked like he was about to go into cardiac arrest himself.
"When was the last time you saw Armstrong alive?" Brainert asked.
Pepper glanced at his Rolex. "This morning. Not much more than an hour ago. Maggie cooked Armstrong breakfast, then packed up her things."
"She's leaving?" I asked, surprised. "Already? With this weekend's biggest dinner party tonight?"
Brainert and I exchanged suspicious glances. Why was Maggie Kline bolting so quickly? Up to now, she'd been happily staying as a guest in this very house.
"She's not leaving Quindicott," Wendell replied, clearing things up. "Maggie was on a waiting list at the Finch Inn, and a room opened up. She got the call this morning."
That still seemed suspicious to me. "Maggie was staying with you. Why move to the inn?"
"Because of the big dinner at Chez Finch tonight, Wendell said. "Maggie wanted to check into the inn so she could stay as late as she wanted after dinner and wouldn't have to travel all the way back here to sleep. To be honest, I planned to join her. The rooms are very romantic, you know. And those dinners are always heavy drinking affairs, lots of toasts, people talking into the wee hours."
Brainert nodded. "So when you left, Pierce was fine?"
Wendell nodded vehemently. "I spoke with him, gave him the paper. Maggie even checked on him while I put her luggage in the car. I can readily assure you that Pierce Armstrong was very much alive an hour ago."
We heard sirens. Three squad cars raced down Larchmont, bubble lights flashing.
"Sheesh," Seymour muttered. "Eighteen freakin' minutes for Ciders's boys to get here. Thank goodness it wasn't a real emergency."
Chief Ciders had come with his nephew, Bull McCoy. They went into the house and came back out again.
"So what do you think, Chief?" Seymour called. "Another 'accident'? What's your theory this time? Did ol' Armstrong get up from his wheelchair and bash himself in the head with the speargun?"
I heard Jack laughing in my head.
"Shhhhh!"
Seymour turned to me. "It's okay, Pen. He has it coming."
The chief narrowed his eyes on Seymour, and then he began to grill us. This time, when I mentioned the word murder, no one gave me any grief.
Finally, the police went back into the house and took Wendell Pepper with them. Alone on the front porch, Seymour, Brainert, and I didn't take long to agree on the identity of the killer.
"Hedda Geist-Middleton," Seymour declared. "She's the only person we know who had a motive to kill both Dr. Lilly and Pierce Armstrong."
"I don't want to believe it, but I fear Seymour is correct," Brainert said, frowning.
"I think so, too," I said. "While it's possible Virginia Pepper came to rob the house, I can't see an angry ex-wife being furious enough to bash in the head of an old man, even if he did catch her red-handed during some half-baked burglary. And besides, Virginia had no logical motive to kill Dr. Lilly or send an audio speaker careening to the Movie Town stage."
I jerked my head in the direction of Chief Ciders, who was standing in the foyer. "Our problem is convincing the law around here that Hedda killed a man in cold blood sixty years ago-with accomplices-and she appears to be staging a repeat performance."
"Well, don't look at me to convince Ciders of anything," Seymour said. "He thinks I'm a troublemaker-for some reason."
I glanced at Brainert, but he shook his head. "It's one thing to believe in Hedda's guilt. It's quite another thing to rat out your business partner. If word ever got around that I'd accused Hedda, and it wasn't true, well…"
"Okay, then I'll do it," I declared. "Frankly, I think by now Chief Ciders would be disappointed if I didn't point out at least one suspect to him."
The chief caught me watching him through the screen door. He tucked his thumbs into his gun belt and sauntered out to the porch. I noticed Brainert and Seymour fading into the scenery as Ciders approached.
"You wanted to talk to me, Mrs. McClure?" said the big man, almost politely.
"Actually, Chief, I do."
I told Ciders about everything I'd learned over the past two days: the history between Hedda and Pierce Armstrong; the details of Dr. Lilly's newly published book that finally exposed the aging diva as a murderer. Ciders listened. He even nodded a few times. But I could tell from his veiled expression that he wasn't biting.
"Hedda is eighty years old, Mrs. McClure," he finally replied. "She may be vital for her age, but I doubt she'd have the strength to kill Dr. Lilly or Pierce Armstrong. Those crimes were done by somebody younger, somebody who has at least a bit of physical strength."
Ciders paused, frowning. "Besides, Dr. Lilly's death was investigated and already ruled an accident by Dr. Rubino-"
"Rubino!" My temper flared, and I just couldn't curb my tongue. "You can't be dense enough to believe Rubino's conclusion? Not after this! And don't you think it's a little bit curious that Randall Rubino is Hedda Geist's personal physician? And what about Hedda's granddaughter, Harmony? She could very well have been helping her grandmother carry out these crimes."
"All right, that's enough!" Ciders' beady eyes narrowed. "Accusing Hedda is one thing, impugning our new medical examiner is another. Time to go, Mrs. McClure. I've called in the state for this one. Their crime scene unit will be here any minute, and you and your friends are in the way."
"But Chief, don't you think the state investigators will want to speak with me? I discovered the body, and-"
"I have your statement already, Mrs. McClure, and I'll discuss your theories with them myself. If we find any physical evidence that Hedda Geist-Middleton, or Dr. Rubino, or Harmony Middleton, was on these premises, I'll revisit your allegations. Until then… have a good day."
"But-"
"That's polite for hit the road. Now!"
CHAPTER 19. Bombshell
I like troubled times. They keep the police occupied.
– Singapore, 1947
BY THE TIME I drove us all back to the bookstore, Aunt Sadie had just finished hosting another film festival author signing: Barry Yello and his trade paperback Bad Barry: My Love Affair with B, C, and D Movies. He was gone by now, but the aisles were still crowded with high-energy customers. They were aggressively browsing, asking questions, and buying, buying, buying (thank goodness).
I was also thankful that Mina Griffith was here again today, along with our newest hire, Bonnie Franzetti.
Eddie's little sister had jumped at the chance to work somewhere other than her family's pizza place, and she'd shown up at our store within an hour of Sadie's call this morning.
I felt guilty asking Sadie if she'd had a chance to look through the book about Gotham Studios, but I mentioned it anyway.
"Heavens no, I haven't had a moment," she told me as she rang up another customer's purchase. "But things should settle down in an hour or so, when the festival's matinee begins."
"Well, I'm here to help," I assured her, taking over behind the check-out counter. "You haven't had lunch. And neither have Mina and Bonnie. Do you want to go first or shall we spell the girls?"